


From the Darkness To the Light

by escobarhippo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Romance, Self-Reflection, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escobarhippo/pseuds/escobarhippo
Summary: Jaime reflects on how much his life has changed, and just who is responsible for that change.  Fluffy one-shot written for the Oathkeepers fanzine.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	From the Darkness To the Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was written over the summer for the fantastic Oathkeepers J/B fanzine project. I really just needed to write something soothing and happy to heal from the show disaster. I started thinking of how different the relationship between Jaime and Brienne is compared to that with his sister. This is the result, and I hope it brings you some warm fuzzies. Thank you Marina F for the beta and Mothdogs for doing the fanzine!

From the Shadows to the Light

Jaime lay awake in the pre-dawn hours, abed and thinking. Curled beside him, all softness and warmth, was Brienne. His head rested against hers, and over her blonde waves he could see out the window of their chambers. Stars filled the night sky, but inside the room it was as black as ink. He knew he should get some sleep, but it felt so damn good to just be like this. In the darkness he could savor the feel of her body pressed to his, or listen to the sound of her breath. It was a luxury he wondered if he would ever get used to, and one that he never had with Cersei. Although, he doubted she would have allowed it. She was never one for this type of intimacy.

Lately he had been doing a lot of thinking. He was not a particularly philosophical man, at least not like his brother. Tyrion would have handled such a position far better. Living here at Casterly Rock was harder than he imagined, with ghosts around every corner. His mother, his father, and his sister most of all. It was no longer simply his boyhood home, now he was lord of it (ridiculous as it sounded). He had nearly begged Brienne, “I can’t do this without you, I need you by my side.” Despite the air of desperation and lack of romance to the proposal, she said yes. It was almost enough to make Jaime believe in the seven gods again.

This was where his sister had been so different. She would have mocked him for showing weakness, berated him for stumbling over words. Brienne had smiled and squeezed his good hand, telling him he would be a most wonderful lord and how honored she was by his request. Which response was truly love? Oh, how he was learning now. He thought he had known what love was. After all, it had been the driving force of his life. Yet here he was, contemplating if it had all been for naught. Everything with Cersei had been either bitterly cold or searing hot. Brienne was dependably, consistently warm. Jaime had gone from a world of black and white, to one with more colors than the rainbow possessed.

Cersei was always so harsh. Her face, her spirit, and so often her voice. With Brienne he found a yielding softness he had not thought to imagine, both her touch and her heart gentle. For a time he had been plagued with nightmares, shaking him from his sleep with gasps of fear. He dreamt of walking dead people, those unknown and known, Starks and Lannisters alike. Brienne never hesitated to draw him, sweaty as he was, into her arms to soothe his anxieties. Furthermore, she never mentioned it in the daylight, when he felt embarrassed. Cersei would have scolded and ridiculed him endlessly. “Are you a child, fearing monsters in the dark?”. He could still imagine the sharpness of her voice.

In all the years beside his twin, he could hardly think of a time she had laughed a true laugh--unless it was at the cruel expense of another person. Too often, the object of her mockery was Tyrion. Though he hadn’t thought of Brienne as particularly good humoured in their early days together, in time he had come to know her playful side. Laughter now brought sweetness to his life. And gods, did they laugh! They laughed at themselves, they laughed at this ridiculous circumstance that found them in a seat of power. When Brienne was in a sour mood, Jaime would offer -- or rather, threaten -- to sing her a song. At first she would scowl and plug her ears with annoyance as began his serenade, but soon both of them would be tittering.

Then there was the sex. For he and Cersei, it was always coming together like angry storm clouds, all possessive and primal, satisfying a need and then over quickly. Every time was tainted with the fear of being caught. When Jaime was wiIth Brienne, they blended like colors in the sunset. He could spend a long time just touching and kissing her, lost in the experience, which increased the intensity of what came later on. Being inside her was the only time in his life he felt a sense of belonging. Perhaps when Brienne woke he could convince her for another round. The wench was surprisingly lusty in the early sunlight. For now, the heavy darkness of night was letting up, and a few shadows inched their way across the chambers.

Not having to hide this love was liberating. There was no danger, no shame. Brienne was a highborn lady of Westeros, and his wife at that. Anyone who had a negative opinion of her appearance could go rot in a dungeon for all he cared. It had taken him some time to develop a relaxed attitude and love in the open, after a lifetime of loving in the shadows. He could interlace their fingers as others watched, or nip at her playfully while she fed him a sweet morsel from her plate. Sometimes she rested her hand on his arm or thigh in the evenings as they sat side by side. It made the small talk and forced pleasantries of his lordship duties more bearable. “Less than an hour until we can retire,” she would murmur in his ear, between complaints of taxes or boasts of a fruitful rye harvest.

Silver replaced the blackness in the room now. My time to sleep is fast waning, he realized. The castle was not yet stirring, fortunately. The quiet was something else he enjoyed. Being with his twin meant arguing and raised voices, everything loud. With his wife, however, they could simply sit in companionable silence. Long gone were his desires for the glory from lance and sword. After all, he had lived enough excitement for three lifetimes. Where there had once been violence, there was now calm stability.

That wasn’t to say he and Brienne were without their quarrels. They quibbled over silly things such as the length of Jaime’s beard (“It chafes my thighs so,” she muttered, red-faced) and argued over larger governance issues such as the severity of punishment for a band of sheep thieves. Brienne was still infuriatingly stubborn, and she at times accused Jaime of having a short temper or of being prideful (which simply wasn’t true). But no blows were leveled to insult or cause hurt. When they fought, it wasn’t to tear each other down, it was to make each other better. Likewise, when they found spare time they sometimes met in the tourney yard with blunted swords. There they fought blade to blade, never with the intent to harm but always with competitive spirit. Jaime tried to keep a tally in his head of his wins, and he was almost certain he had more victories--if you counted the times Brienne cheated by batting her glorious blue eyes and causing him to stumble. 

Dawn was creeping in now, all pink and orange streaks lacing the eastern sky. He knew he would regret this later when exhaustion threatened to overtake him in meetings. As though aware of his need for chastisement, Brienne elbowed him in the ribs as she shifted positions in her sleep. To Jaime, though, It was worth cherishing these new moments, for happiness was a slippery thing. 

His relationship with Cersei has been choking the life from him, he knew it now. Brienne brought a breath of fresh air. One woman had been poison, the other a tonic. Jaime had grieved for Cersei - agonizingly so. It still hurt sometimes. Yet he accepted that the past was gone, no more tangible than his right hand. Jaime had never been afraid to die and he still wasn’t, but now more than ever he wanted to live. He was no longer that man who loved Cersei. Perhaps by finding Brienne, he thought, I likewise found myself.

The halls of Casterly Rock would always be home to ghosts. His father’s disapproving frown, a slap from Cersei, the soft voice of the mother he barely remembered. His life had been spent chasing a love that never really was--at least not what he thought. He could never have those years back, and in truth he could not wish to do so. They had shaped him to be the man he was, the man who held actual love in his arms. The memories could be painful, but most painful things brought growth. It was akin to the loss of his hand--those deep phantom aches never really went away, but he learned how to manage it as he himself grew stronger. And with Brienne by his side, he was not like to fail. He did not deserve this woman, nor her love, but he was just selfish enough to hang on to her for dear life.

A new day was breaking, and sounds of the castle waking entered through the window. Pots clanked, doors opened and closed, and in the distance a rooster crowed. Light poured in like the finest Arbor gold.

It was only a short while before Brienne stirred, stretched, and rewarded him with a coy smile. He ran his fingers through her hair, not yet ready to break the silence with words. Now there was light enough to count the freckles on her face, and to see the flush spread across her cheeks as he tugged them both under the covers.   
  


At long last, the sun had risen.


End file.
